


In the Shadows of Your Heart

by therearenousernameleft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Gendry is a Baratheon, Gendry is the Lord of Storm's End, Gendrya - Freeform, Getting to Know Each Other, Not arranged marriage or forced marriage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Queen Daenerys, Slow Burn, There are no dragons in this au, There maybe some fluff eventually, This is going to be a long one, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, because why not, but there is going to be a marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2019-11-16 14:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therearenousernameleft/pseuds/therearenousernameleft
Summary: Arya's whole life is turned upside down when her entire family is murdered because of a coup planned by the Boltons. Now the only surviving family she has is Jon, and she doesn't exactly know where he is. Being captured by Boltons, she is preparing for the day she dies, when one day the Lord of Stormlands arrives at Winterfell to take her back to Storm’s End with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing except my mistakes (probably too many of those). All the characters belong to the person who gave us the ASOIAF series, G.R.R.M.

_**Chapter 1** _

_Dearest Arya,_

  _I think I made the best decision of my life when I decided to join Uncle Benjen in his quest to go around the seven kingdoms and beyond to find unknown land. I’m not alone here. There are over a dozen men like me. I have made a few friends, one of them being Samwell Tarly. I think he is one of the smartest people I have ever met._

_The food everywhere is eccentric, and I’m certain that one of the places we visited served us human flesh. I did not eat that day or the following, really. The wines are a whole different tale. I have yet to have one I don’t like, but Sam told me that it would soon change. He says that some actually taste like dragon piss. That reminds me when we were in Meereen I thought that I saw dragons, but as it turns out they were just giant lizards. Imagine my disappointment._

_The only thing missing is you. I know you would have loved it. The different people, the clams, the canal, everything. I’m attaching a small coin I found in Braavos as a souvenir. I hope you like it. Cannot wait for the journey back home. Hopefully, we’ll make it back by Sansa’s wedding, if not, I’ll definitely be there at yours, even if I have to fly there. Miss you, little sister._

_Your loving brother,_

_Jon Snow._

Arya wiped the tears from her eyes. These weren't the tears of sadness, on the contrary, these were the tears of happiness. She had seen how unhappy Jon was at Winterfell. He had always felt like an outsider.

The cool silver of the coin rested on the palm of her left hand. She lightly traced the etchings on the coin.

“Valar Morghulis.” She read the inscription on the coin. “Valar Dohaeris.”

“What are you reading?” Sansa asked as she entered her chamber.

She placed the coin down. “Jon sent a letter. It seems he is enjoying himself.”

Sansa smiled softly. “That is good to hear.”

Arya nodded as her chest tightened with emotion. She was not going to lie, she missed him. Jon was the one she was the closest to among all her siblings, and seeing him miserable, even if he tried his best not to show it, always felt like a knife through her heart. She never understood why people were so hard on bastards, or why they ridiculed them. If anyone was at fault it was the parents, though Arya didn’t like to think about her father like that. Ned Stark was a just and kind man. And for some reason, she always thought that he was hiding something, but that must be her blind faith in her father as a daughter.

“So…” Sansa started, looking awfully interested in studying her shoes.

“So what?” Arya asked, raising her brows.

“Have you made up your mind about Edric Dayne?”

Arya groaned internally. About a few days back, her father had told her about the betrothal proposal that came from Dorne. Her mother, Catelyn Stark, had been over the moon about the whole thing, but her father had assured her the last word would be hers. She knew sooner or later she would be betrothed, but that didn’t mean she would have to say yes to the first one… or the tenth really. Yet there was something different about this one. Her father genuinely seemed to like the man. So, she decided there was no harm in meeting him once. She just hadn’t told anyone this. She decided she would after tonight’s feast which was arranged to announce both Sansa’s betrothal to Lord Willas Tyrell of Highgarden, the wedding was after two moon’s turns, and that Robb and Jeyne were with a child.

“Arya?”

“Uh- no. No, I haven’t.” Arya said somewhat truthfully.

Sansa hummed as she started to play with the hem of her sleeve. “I asked Lord Tyrell about him,” Arya looked at her surprised. Sansa was blushing. “He said Edric is a good man.”

“Writing to your betrothed before the wedding. Look at you, being improper.” Arya teased.

Sansa blushed even harder. “I just asked him about Edric. We don’t talk about anything improper- oh shut up.”

Arya chuckled. “I will think about it, but after the feast.”

Sansa was visibly vibrating with excitement at her words. “As long as you’ll think about it.”

*

The feast was going as well as one could hope for. Everyone was enjoying themselves immensely, especially Sansa. It looked like she wanted to soak in every bit of memory from her last feast before the wedding. Arya didn’t think she had seen Sansa quiet so drunk before. She chuckled as she saw Sansa and Rickon dancing to _The Bear and the Maiden Fair._ She turned to look at Robb and Jeyne who looked like they were in their whole separate little kingdom. Her heart clenched when Robb gently ran a hand on Jeyne’s stomach. Suddenly her vision started to darken at the edges, and she grabbed the edge of the high table. After a moment, she felt everything going back to normal and she loosened her grip.

“Arya?” Bran’s said softly, he sounded concerned. “Are you feeling well?”

Arya turned to look at him and once again felt her head swim, but this time her stomach was protesting too. She tried to give him a smile but knew it wasn’t very convincing. “Too much Dornish Wine.”

The truth was she hadn’t had that much wine, only a sip.

Bran didn’t look convinced. “You should go to your chamber. Rest a bit. Come back after you feel well.”

Closing her eyes, Arya waved him off. She had this under control as long as she didn’t move, talk, or breathe. She opened her eyes when she started feeling a little better. She blinked a few times; her vision was still slightly blurry. She noticed her father was talking with someone, and they were very clearly having a disagreement. She squinted and noticed that it was Lord Roose Bolton. She grimaced. She has never liked the Boltons. Every single one of them gave her the creeps, especially his son, Ramsay Bolton. There was something wrong with that man. Her gaze drifted to where the said man was seated, and her stomach turned at the sight of him looking at Sansa. If she could stand on her feet without passing out, she was going to punch that man. As if hearing her thoughts, Ramsay turned to look at her, giving her a creepy smile. She looked away before she threw up.

Once again, she closed her eyes, trying her best to think of things that would make her less likely to throw up. A few people were trying to talk to her; she simply tried to smile and nodded. Once or twice she opened her eyes and saw them filling her tumbler. She told them weakly that she had had enough, but they persisted. She didn’t feel like a drink, but everyone was insisting, so she pretended to take a sip then, threw the rest under the table. Her stomach ached, she felt nauseous. Another wave of nausea rolled over her, and she hurriedly got up and ran out before anyone could notice her.

*

She wiped her mouth. She felt much better after throwing up. She still felt dizzy, but all in all she felt a lot better. All she wanted was to stay in her chamber and rest, but she did promise Sansa that she would be there till the end of the feast. She sighed and made her way back to the feast. She was humming _No Featherbed for Me_ when she halted in her steps. It was quiet; too quiet for a feast.

Her heart thudded against her chest as she strained her ears to hear the sound of music and the garbled noise of chatter that should be coming from the Great Hall but nothing. It was silent like the land beyond the wall only a few whispers reached her ears. She wasn’t in her chamber so long that everyone already left; she would have known. She reached through the slit in her dress to the scabbard Sansa made that helped her keep Needle with her even when she was wearing a dress. She unsheathed needle; her heart was hammering in her chest. On tiptoes, she made her way to the Great Hall. She noticed that the door was open, and laughter erupted from the Great Hall. It wasn’t right. It sounded wrong. Every instinct was telling her to run, but she stood her ground. She will not leave her family. She noticed the blood pooling in front of the door; her breath caught in her throat as her eyes started to burn.

_No, no, no._

“Always too trusting, Lord Stark.” A voice mocked, making her blood run cold.

Her steps quickened, her heart thundering in her chest. Father was in danger, he needed her. A pair of hands stopped her. She raised needle to defend herself but lowered when she noticed it was Maester Luwin. “Father- “

Maester Luwin put his finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. “Lord Bolton revolted, Arya. He murdered everyone.” He said, pushing her towards the Godswood.

Her heart stopped as grief pierced through it. She turned to run towards the Hall, but Maester Luwin stopped her. She tried to wrench herself free, but he wouldn’t let go. “You have to run, Arya. Save yourself. Go to King’s Landing, if possible, Storm’s End. Don’t trust anyone in the North. I already released Nymeria, the rest I couldn’t- we don’t have much time.”

He was trying to drag her towards the Godswood, but she kept struggling. “They could still be alive. I need to save them. They need me.” Tears were streaming down her face as she tried to wrench her arm free of his grasp. Didn’t he understand? Her family needed her. Everyone was there, they must be hurt, but she could still save them- she will save them.

“Everyone is gone, Arya.” His voice cracked as he grabbed her by the shoulder; shaking her. Her gaze focused on his face, and she noticed that his cheeks were wet too. “You cannot let them get to you, my child. They wanted Sansa, but she didn’t- you have to run, Arya.”

A sudden shout erupted, and they both turned towards the incoming horde of soldiers. He pushed her towards the Godswood. “Run.”

She ran. When she looked back, Maester Luwin was on his knees; he was screaming as the blade pierced his heart. She didn’t let herself stop. She needed to run. She needed to save herself so that she could kill every single traitor.

The sound of a whistle echoed through the Godswood; followed by quick footfalls. A low growl rang through the night.

_Dogs._

She raised Needle as she tried to adjust her sight to the darkness the surrounded her. A sudden wind blew through the Godswood, and somehow, she knew that someone or something was behind her. She turned and raised Needle; her blade slashed through the still air around her. The sound of leaves crunching beneath her feet as she stepped back. Her gaze shifted to her right, and she could make out the form of a large dog, its eyes glowing like- like death. Growls reverberated around her. She was surrounded. Her parents, Robb’s, Sansa’s, Bran’s, Rickon’s, Jeyne’s face flashed before her eyes, and with a guttural scream, she charged forward. One of the dogs leapt in the air, and she stabbed him through its neck. She felt the warm blood running down her arm as she lowered her arm assuming a fighting stance once again. She kicked another one as it tried to bite her, but it already had her dress between his teeth; after a moment she heard the fabric rip.

“Easy girls, we don’t want to kill her, do we? At least not now.” A voice rang through the Godswood, and the dogs fell back, still growling; they were circling her. He tsked. “Look what you did. You killed Bessie.”

She raised her needle to attack when an arrow pierced her shoulder; pain radiated through her. She fell forward on her knees with the impact. The pain was so intense that she almost passed out. But she couldn’t let them capture her; she won’t give up. She needed to run, to save herself so that she could kill him. She started to get back up as another arrow whooshed past her leg, not piercing her but wounding her even further. She fell to her knees once again. Her body shook with the impact. Her vision went dark.

He sighed. “See now, now I will have to punish you.” His face came into view, the glee on his pale face and she felt white-hot rage flow through her. With a low cry, she tried to stand up again, but this time she felt two hands on each of her arms, she lost her grip on Needle, keeping her in place.

“We have got a stubborn one,” A cold smile touched his lips. He ran a finger down her face, and she reared back to spit on his face when his hand clasped on her lips. “I am going to enjoy breaking you.” He whispered drawing closer, an evil glint in his eyes.

She bit his hand, and he jerked back holding his bloodied hand close to his chest, looking at her with such intense anger that was borderline manic.

She smiled knowing well how her teeth must be red from his blood. She spat the blood near his feet. “I am going to enjoy killing you.”

Someone yanked the arrow out of her, and before she could scream in pain, Ramsay Bolton struck her with something. The world started to blur around the edges. All she heard was the faint command to take her to the dungeons before she passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine.  
> So what do you guys think?  
> I know, I know I said around Valentine's Day, sorry.  
> This is going to be a long, wild ride. This is going to be about 40 chapters long. I have never written an angsty slow-burn before and believe me it's going to be slow burn. But I can assure you this will definitely have a happy ending.  
> I'll try my best to update every week but I can't promise that because I have exams and time seems to fly by around those. As always I promise that I will complete this fic.  
> I have almost finished writing yet another reunion fic (I need help!) so I will most likely post it by the end of the week.  
> I hope you like it. Again I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Thank you so much for reading <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the beautiful comments and Kudos ❤  
> I hope you like this chapter too ❤

**Chapter 2**

Bastard. Armorer’s apprentice. The Bull. Gendry. Gendry Baratheon. Lord Gendry Baratheon. The funny thing was even after all these years the ones he had the most trouble relating to, were the last two. When he was young, never in his wildest dreams did he think that he would become a Lord someday, that he would have a family. But he did. An uncle who loved him like a son. A trusted advisor who treated him like a son. A cousin who loved him like a brother. Another uncle, who wasn’t really his uncle, and yet he treated Gendry more like a nephew than he did his own. He didn’t care about the rest. And yet there was this emptiness inside him, like a piece that was missing.

“Gendry.” Uncle Renly’s excited voice echoed through the chamber.

He grimaced. Only one thing could make his uncle sound this excited, actually two things, but he was pretty sure Ser Loras Tyrell was still in Highgarden. And he really didn’t want to discuss the second.

“You know, I just got a raven from- “He started, but Gendry cut him off.

“No.”

He didn’t need to look at his uncle to know that he was looking at the sky asking for some patience to deal with his bull-headed nephew. The thought almost made him smile. Almost.

“At least hear me out before saying- “

“No.”

This time the Uncle Renly’s sigh of annoyance was audible. He turned to look at him and felt guilty when he saw the look on Uncle Renly’s face. The man has raised him to be the man he is today; the least he could do is listen.

“Fine,” Gendry said defeated. “Who is it this time?”

Uncle Renly grinned in delight. “It’s from the North. I have heard wonderful things about Lady- “

“No.” He didn’t mean to cut his uncle off mid-sentence, again, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew that marriage was important both as an alliance between two houses and for continuing their lineage but for some reason he could find himself to say yes to any or all the betrothal proposals that his uncle had brought to him. Sometimes he thought maybe it was because of his fear that he would turn out like his father that made him stay far away from it. Sometimes it was because he was afraid. What if they refused because he was a bastard? He may be legitimized now, but he was and always will be a bastard, and some families don’t forget that or let him forget it for that matter.

“You know you are not getting any younger, son.” Uncle Renly replied calmly.

Gendry grumbled unintelligibly. He was really getting tired of having this discussion. He was not a maiden whose virtue was going to be in tatters if, by chance, he never gets married. Besides, it wasn’t as if the Baratheon line was going to end with him. His dear father had enough children, enough bastards, he thought bitterly, to make sure that never happens.

“Gendry,” Uncle Renly said running his hand down his face, “Son, you do know people just call you the Bull and you are not actually one, so, for the love of old gods and the new, stop grumbling and say something definitive.”

A startled laugh escaped his lips. “I know, uncle.”

“You are not him; you know.” When Gendry looked at him confused, his uncle explained. “You are better than him.”

He looked away. Was he? Everybody told him how they see the shadow of his father in him. How out of all their children he was the one who resembled Robert Baratheon the most, both in looks and temperament. He wasn’t a drunk like his father, but it may be because he never reached the point in his life that finally tipped him over the edge.

Uncle Renly placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are not him, Gendry. No matter what.”

He didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure what he would, what he should say. After a moment, he heard uncle Renly sigh. He squeezed his shoulder before dropping his hands to his sides. He felt guilt coursing through him again. His uncle had done so much for him, and he couldn’t even say yes to a stupid proposal. He knew his uncle; he would never do anything that wasn’t good for House Baratheon. And him, he added belatedly. And him.

“Fine.” He said when he felt uncle Renly step back.

“What?” Uncle Renly asked, perplexed.

“I promise I will agree to the next betrothal that comes.” He took in a deep breath. “No matter who.”

*

He let the heat of the forge flow through him. He let the rhythmic sound of metal hitting metal calm his mind. When he was in the forge, nothing else existed. It was just him, and the steel he was forging. It was the familiarity which was comforting. Here, in the forge, there was nothing that could throw him off. Here, he was always prepared.

As the water sizzled around the hot steel his thoughts went to the day when he was still an armorer’s apprentice, when he was still a no name bastard, when he was still Gendry. Only Gendry. He had made his first helm, a bull’s head helm, and he remembered how proud he was of his work. Even Master Mott had complimented him. He remembered the warmth of happiness, of satisfaction enveloping him. He had gone back to work, a spring in his steps. From the corner of his eyes, he saw someone entering the shop as he picked up his hammer again. That’s when his whole world changed. Because that was Lord Ned Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. Lord Stark was the one who told him that he was the son, bastard son, of the King. He had refused to believe it. Why should he have? He had seen the King, he a drunkard, who, it was pretty clear, had sought no pleasure from being the King. He never saw the man whose fighting prowess on the Battlefield was told and retold so many times that he was certain most of it was a myth. He just saw a man who suffered a tremendous loss which he never recovered from. He did believe him when the Gold Cloaks came for him at the shop. He was mere inches away from death when Lord Stark and Renly Baratheon had barged in. As it turned out, the Queen, then, Cersei Lannister had found out about all the bastards of King Robert and had given out orders to execute every single one of them because as all of her children were actually bastards themselves, born out of incest, and would have no claim to the Iron throne if the truth ever came out. Or maybe because she hated the King. Most likely both.

He remembered the first day he met the king because there was absolutely nothing special about that day. King took one look at him asked for another glass of wine then walked out. Gendry could say he was expecting more, but he didn’t. He knew he wasn’t the only one; he wasn’t anyone special. He remembered uncle Renly’s hand on his shoulder; he remembered uncle Renly asking him to move to Storm’s End with him. He had said yes, what else could he have done? Now that the word of him being a bastard had gotten out, he couldn’t go back to Master Mott’s shop. He couldn’t be an apprentice any longer. There were people who still wanted him dead.

With heavy heart, he moved to Storm’s End. What seemed like the end was actually a new beginning. Uncle Renly never treated him like- like a bastard. He always treated him like family; like his son more than his nephew. He taught Gendry everything; how to read, how to fight, how to act like he belonged amongst the high-born or at least pretend very well that he belonged.

In the course of a few years, so many things changed that it still made his head spin. The King, his father, passed away. Everyone said that it was a hunting accident, but he knew somehow that Cersei Lannister had a hand in it. Within a moon’s turn, Daenerys Targaryen was at King’s Landing with her army of Unsullied and the Dothraki. There was no opposition. She descended on the Iron Throne, taking her rightful place.

“Gendry.” Uncle Renly said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He continued to work knowing uncle Renly was going to continue with or without him saying anything.

“Gendry.” He said again. His voice sounded faint. “A raven just arrived.”

He didn’t reply. Another Raven, that wasn’t something new. Most likely the Queen had called for another council at King’s Landing. He hammered the hot steel with even more force.

“I think- I think-” Uncle Renly stammered- “It’s from the North.”

Gendry placed his hammer down on hearing his Uncle stammer. A sudden cloud of dread was swirling around them. He wiped his brow and turned to look at his Uncle, who looked like all his blood has been drained from his face.

“Uncle,” Gendry said; concerned as he placed a hand over his shoulder. “You don’t look well. Have a seat.”

“It’s from the North, I think. Who else would send it?” Uncle Renly was mumbling to himself as he sat down.

Gendry frowned. “Is it from Lord Stark?”

Uncle Renly looked like he was startled back into reality after hearing Lord Stark’s name. “No, but we need to talk to the Queen and gather our forces. Winterfell is in danger.”

Gendry’s heart stopped. The thought of harm coming to Ned Stark was unimaginable to him. He owed the man everything. Ned Stark was the reason he was alive. Ned Stark was the reason he has a family. He tried to calm himself as panic started to claw its way through him. “Uncle, what does the letter say?”

Uncle Renly gulped and held out the letter. “It says that the Starks are in danger. It says that Roose Bolton is planning a coup and he means to leave no survivors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think?  
> I'm so sorry. I know I said a week but I honestly don't know what happened. Sorry :(  
> Just a few days and GOT will be back and I'm so freaking excited for the reunions.  
> The next chapter will be Arya POV  
> Again I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Thank you so much for reading <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for updating so late. Thank you so much guys for all you love and support ❤  
> Enjoy ❤

**Chapter 3**

He was whistling again. It was the same tune he whistled that day, the day her life was changed forever. The day she lost everyone. She didn’t know how long it had been since she had been taken as a prisoner by the Boltons. It may have been a fortnight or just a day. She didn’t know.

The whistling grew louder, and she knew he was close to the cell she had been kept in. She tried to raise her hands to cover her ears, but it was to no avail. Her hands were shackled, had been since she got here. She tried to remember her parents smile, Sansa’s laughter, her brothers ruffling her hair and for a moment their memories drowned out every noise, one particular noise, surrounding her.

“I hope you are enjoying your stay here, Lady Stark.” Ramsay Bolton’s vile face came into her view. His voice grating on her senses.

She didn’t reply, instead focussed all her energy on thinking about her family. She did not want to look at him. She did not want to see him looking at her. Even the thought of his eyes on her made her sick.

“Ignoring me again, Lady Stark.” Ramsay tsked.

_Bran was climbing the Weirwood, and his feet slipped. He fell right into the pond. Sansa and Meera were laughing, and Summer was trying to get him out. Rickon tried to get Shaggydog to help Summer, but instead, Shaggydog jumped into the water-_

“I hope the servants cleaned your wounds properly.” He continued. “I don’t like my woman marked, but I think there is something about a woman who fights back. Makes it more fun to break her.”

Her eyes snapped open. She glared at him with barely contained fury. “I will never be your woman.”

There was an evil glint in his eyes, and she knew she had made her first mistake. She showed weakness.

“You weren’t my first choice either.” He shrugged. “It was supposed to be your sister, but as it turned out she kept a dagger with her.”

She bit her tongue hard. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest. She felt a sob building up.

_Oh, Sansa._

“So, tell me, Lady Stark, do you want a big wedding, or go straight to bedding?”

_Sansa was trying to use the berries to paint her lips red. Lady and Nymeria were rolling around on the ground and accidentally nudged Sansa causing her hand to stumble. There was a red line streaking from her lips to chin. Jeyne was laughing so hard that she tears in her eyes._

“Personally. I’m partial to bedding first, but then again, most women I’ve fucked were definitely not Ladies.”

She wanted to scratch her ears out. She did not want to hear his voice anymore, it was grating. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost hear the rustle of leaves in Godswood. She closed her eyes, and focussed on the sound of her breathing. Like this, she could almost hear the walls of Winterfell trying to soothe her wounds. Like this, she could almost hear her parents’ voices from the crypts. Like this, she could almost hear the sound of familiar laughter that used to echo through the walls of Winterfell.

“You are no fun, Lady Stark.” He said moving closer. She drew in herself trying to get as far away from him as possible. She did not want him to touch her. She would have stopped him if her hands weren’t shackled so close to the ground. She hated herself for feeling so helpless. She hated him even more to make her feel like this.

A finger ran down her cheek and she flinched. She won’t look at him. She would never give him the satisfaction to see the pain and helplessness in her eyes.

_Mother and Father were looking at each other with so much love in their eyes that she felt her cheeks burn and happiness unfurl in heart. Father leaned down to whisper something in her Lady mother’s ear making her blush so hard that Arya wondered what he must have said._

Gripping her jaw, he forced her turn in his direction. She still didn’t look at him instead she looked at the spider in the corner of her cell trying to roll the fly it had caught. She felt like the fly and she hated it. She was a wolf, and a wolf was never helpless.

She could feel his breath on her skin, and she wanted to throw up. If it wasn’t for her promise to herself to not look at him, she would have spat in his face, again.

“You cannot ignore me forever,” He whispered in her ear. “Lady Stark.”

She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, not as much as a sound of disgust left her lips. She wanted to submerge herself in hot water and scrub her skin till every trace of his touch is gone. She wanted to rip her ears out, so she didn’t have to hear his voice again.

He whistled as he left. She closed her eyes and prayed to the old gods for some strength. Strength to end a life, his or hers she didn’t know yet.

*

She knew she needed to eat. She would need her strength if she wanted to escape and this was why she forced herself to keep the food down her throat and not throw up. She knew she was gaining strength and her biggest mistake was that one day she showed it.

When they came to clean her wounds next, and one of them was a girl, Myranda, who was one of the girls Ramsay bedded frequently but this one was different. This one wanted to be in bed with him on her own accord, Myranda enjoyed it, and she hated Arya. Myranda used to taunt Arya every time she came to oversee the girls who washed her. She snatched the cloth when they started to clean her wounds so that she could do it herself, cleaning her wounds little harder than the others did, trying to get a reaction out of Arya but she always got frustrated and left because Arya never rose to her baits.

But this time Myranda made a mistake, this time she underestimated Arya and loosened her shackles much more than she intended. She had sent everyone away so she could torture Arya alone. But Myranda had gotten close to her, too close. Myranda tried to grab her by her hair, but before she could Arya raised her shackled hands and wound the chain that held it together around her neck holding it tight. Myranda was thrashing around, trying to get Arya to loosen her grip, but her grip only tightened. She could almost see how she could escape. Just a few more seconds, her grip a little tighter, and she could escape.

That’s when she heard the whistling again. Her heart sank. She played to the old gods that let this be her mind playing tricks on her but the sounds of footsteps drawing closer, she felt her grip going slack.

No, she snarled. She was not going to give up. She was going to escape, and she was going to kill him.

“I knew you had it in you, Lady Arya.” Ramsay said, his eyes raking appreciatively over her.

“I’ll kill her.” She warned as she jerked Myranda against her. Myranda was thrashing and clawing at her throat now.

Ramsay didn’t take his eyes off her. “Kill her. I have grown tired of her anyway.” With an evil grin he added. “I have found someone far more fascinating.”

The thought of that monster finding her interesting was so sickening that Arya loosened her grip, and pushed Myranda towards him and threw up.

He was chuckling, his laughter a rang through the cell, mocking her. She was going to kill him.

She felt his hand on her hair, before she could draw back his grip tightened as he jerked her head back. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from crying out in pain. She didn’t want him to see her weakness, he would always see her fury, her hatred.

“Let go of me.” She snarled at him. His grip tightened even further, and she felt the sharp sting of tears pooling in her eyes, but she wasn’t going to cry.

“Soon, Lady Stark.” He murmured. “Soon you will be mine.”

Before she could reply, he pushed her. She hit the wall hard, aggravating her shoulder injury further. Pain radiated through her shoulder and the tears that she worked so hard to contain threatened to escape her lids.

Myranda had finally gotten to her feet and was rubbing her throat giving her a venomous glare. Despite herself Arya felt her lips twisting to form a mocking smile on seeing the red indentations of chain on her neck.

“You bitch.” Her voice was hoarse. Arya felt a small spark of satisfaction.

Myranda moved towards her, but Ramsay jerked her back and threw her out. He turned to look at her, whistling the same tune that had started to haunt her dreams. She locked her eyes with him as he whistled, and her resolve only hardened. She was going to kill Ramsay Bolton even if it was the last thing she ever did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think?  
> Oh my god guys!! Gendrya is canon!! I am so happy. Also, I think we need to form a prayer circle for the next episode lol  
> We are getting closer to Arya and Gendry's first meeting.   
> Also, I may post yet another one-shot tomorrow. This one between 8x02 and 8x03.  
> I'm sorry for all my mistakes. I hope you liked it ❤


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your love and support guys ❤❤❤ It means the world to me ❤  
> I hope you like this chapter too ❤

**Chapter 4**

“Lord Baratheon,” Daenerys nodded in acknowledgement; a small, welcoming smile on her face when she noticed him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting King’s Landing of your own violation.”

Gendry didn’t bother with formalities; he had walked into the council chamber and glared at everyone till they left. “You know what happened in The North.” It wasn’t a question because he knew there was no way she didn’t know about it.

Her smile dropped. “I do.”

“And?” He asked, his voice rising.

“And what, Lord Baratheon?” Daenerys replied, raising her eyebrows. He could see the ease of familiarity, which was in her eyes a few moments back, disappearing.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Gendry paced the chamber running his hands through his hair. “Surely you could- “

“All I know is that Ned Stark committed treason.” Daenerys tilted her head. “Or that’s what I’ve been told by the Lords of most of the houses of North.”

“Lord Stark would never- “Gendry started furiously. He needed to calm down he wanted Daenerys’s help. He took a deep breath. “You know Lord Stark would never do that. He is- he was, one of the noblest men I know, knew. Seven hells, he might be the noblest man in the seven kingdoms.”

“I never said that I believed them, Gendry.” She replied coolly.

He turned to look at her sharply. “Then why don’t you- “

She tilted her head. She knew full well what he was trying to say, and yet her expressions betraying nothing. “And risk a rebellion?”

He felt his temper rising once again. “Lord Stark had been nothing but faithful to you. He is one of the reasons you- “

She went very still; there was a flash of anger in her eyes. “Choose your next words very carefully, Lord Baratheon.”

Rubbing his temple, Gendry took a deep breath. He hadn’t slept ever since Uncle Renly had told him about what Roose Bolton had planned. When they reached King’s Landing to talk to the Queen about what could be done to help Lord Stark, it had already been too late. Lord Stark was dead, killed, and so was his family.

“We have to do something.” He said. His voice was far more composed than he actually felt.

“We cannot threaten the North with war,” Daenerys said calmly, but he could see the fury behind her eyes.

“I am not talking about threatening.”

Daenerys raised her brows. “You want me to declare an outright war with the Lords of the North because of- “

“Not all the Lords; just the Boltons.”

“Who do you think supported him, Gendry?” Daenerys continued before he could reply. “He had the support of most of the Houses of the North. We don’t know how or why. For all we know, Lord Stark really did commit treason, or maybe he was planning to in near future.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reminding himself that getting into an argument won’t do anyone any good. He needed her help if he wanted to avenge Lord Stark.

“The King- my father,” that word still tasted foreign on his tongue. “My father wanted to kill you; you know.”

Daenerys’s eyes hardened as her lips thinned. “What are trying to imply, Lord Baratheon?”

He ignored her and continued. “You know who the only person was who tried to stop him?” He looked at her; knew the exact moment comprehension dawned on her. “You guessed it correctly; it was Lord Stark. Now tell me this, your Grace, why would the same person try to commit treason against you now.”

There was a stunned silence, and Daenerys looked away. There was so much more he could add like how Lord Stark played a key role in getting the Northern Lords to agree to her being the Queen, but she knew that already.

“I know- “He started, but Daenerys cut him off.

“There is one thing that you still don’t know, Lord Baratheon,” Daenerys said, finally rising from her seat.

“And what would that be?” He bit out.    

“Arya Stark is still alive.”

***

Arya was certain that after the previous incident, they were mixing sleeping potion in her food. She had tried her best to avoid it, but in the end her will to live, for vengeance, won out. She knew they would never put in so much that could kill her; they needed her too much for that. They just needed her at reduced capacity so that she doesn’t pull another stunt like she did the last time Myranda visited. The doses started out small, just enough to make her feel tired, but as they days passed, she started feeling more tired, drowsier, and she knew she had to do something. So, she decided to limit herself to the food which she believed could contain the least amount of the potion.

A platter of food slid in, and she got up, her joints protesting, to bring it closer. Her wounds were still not healed, the frequent cleaning done by Myranda made sure of it that her wounds were rubbed raw. She picked up the bread and left the rest. She broke the bread, peeling off the crust and throwing it om the floor.

“You are right not to eat that.” Said the boy who brought her the food.

She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head slightly to focus. It wasn’t a boy but a young man, someone around her own age. He looked familiar. Recognition knocked on the edges of her consciousness. Surely, it wasn’t- her mind was playing tricks on her.

“Mycah?” Her voice sounded cracked to her own ears. She looked at him for a moment; he still looked like the boy she used to play with, just a little taller than she was now. “What are you- how- “then it struck her. Boltons held Winterfell. He worked for the Boltons now. She knew if all of them had refused, all of them would have been slaughtered, but it didn’t stop the sick feeling of betrayal rising in her.

“You don’t understand, Lady Arya.” He said hurriedly, sounding apologetic. “We had no other choice. And until a few days ago I didn’t even know you were alive. I found out when Lady Myranda was cursing you for trying to kill her and Lord Bolton for not killing you when you tried. I tried to get into the kitchen to try and coax the guards to let me be the one who gets you food. And today, out of the blue they ask me, and I had to see for myself that you were well, but you are obviously not- “

“Mycah, breathe.” She said. She wanted to smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate, it felt like she had forgotten how to do that. But it was still close to something almost like happiness, something like hope she had felt ever since she had been captured.

He smiled at her a little shyly. “Can you walk? Or even better, run?” She looked at him confused. “I may have nicked the key from the guard.” He said sheepishly and raised his hand to show her the key.

She stared at him wide-eyed as the reality finally dawned on her. She finally had a chance, a real chance to escape. The hope which was a mere a spark inside her now was now a full-fledged inferno. She looked at Mycah, who had pleased smile on his face. She could kiss him right now.

*

Mycah helped her through the gates; she bent her head, so the guards wouldn’t recognize her. She was covered in one of the tattered cloaks that she had found. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest.

“Oye!” One of the guards shouted at them just as they exited the gate. They froze. Looking sideways, she searched for something, something that would work as a weapon. “Where are you two going at this time of the night?”

She didn’t turn. She could make a run for it, but if they were captured, they would certainly kill Mycah, and she didn’t want that. He was risking his life for her.

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to show her the new hot spring I found in the woods.” Mycah replied cheerfully, but she could hear the undertones of fear in his voice.

“Ah, yes.” Said the other guard. “I took one of the girls there. Steam wasn’t the only thing rising that night.”

Mycah griped her hand and started walking once again as the sound of laughter followed them.

*

They were almost at the edge of forest neighbouring Winterfell. It was going to be dawn soon. She needed to well within the forest and find a place to hide soon.

Her heart almost slowed down to its normal rhythm. She could almost taste the freedom; it was so close. She didn’t know where she would go if she made it out of here alive; Maester Luwin’s voice echoed in her mind.

_Go to King’s Landing, if possible, Storm’s End._

Renly Baratheon. She had met him when she was young, and father trusted him. Surely, he would help her. She just needed to hide for a few days, so that she could get a word out Jon and then they could gather forces against the Boltons together.

“I can’t walk anymore.” Mycah slumped at a tree as soon as they entered the forest. And she sat in front of him. Words could never convey how thankful she was to him.

She gripped his hands. “I don’t know how I can ever thank- “

She staggered back, falling on the forest floor with a horrified gasp as Needle came out of Mycah’s throat; blood trailed down from the corner of his lips to his throat. His eyes rolled a gurgle of blood escaped his lips as he tried to say something.

Ramsay Bolton’s sinister smile came into her sight. “I really thought this would be more entertaining, but it was just too easy.”

She tried to stand, but her leg slipped on the icy ground in her hurry. A few more of his men were now coming out of their hiding.

“You know, I shouldn’t have killed the blacksmith- what was his name? Doesn’t matter. This blade-” Ramsay continued, holding up a bloody Needle- “is very fine work. Could have used someone so talented in my castle.”

_Mycah._

She looked at Mycah; tears welled up in her eyes as she felt her throat close. He was just trying to help her. He didn’t deserve this. She heard a chuckle; her head snapped up to meet Ramsay’s eyes. With a cry, she rose to her feet; ignoring the shock of pain that radiated through her body and charged at him. She didn’t need any weapons. She was going to kill the bastard with her bare hands.

Someone grabbed her around the waist and jerked her up just when she was in touching distance of Ramsay, grasping her shoulders tightly; fingers digging painfully in her already wounded shoulder which had just started to heal. She struggled against him trying to get away.

“That is not your castle.” She snarled as she continued to struggle. “That will never be your castle.”

Ramsay chuckled as he moved closer, and the arm around her tightened. She could barely move. “I will be legitimized soon, and then there is nothing stopping Winterfell from becoming mine, and then you from becoming my wife.”

*

_Arya Stark is still alive._

The words rang in his mind till there was nothing but a continuous echo. Lord Stark’s daughter was still alive and was a prisoner of Boltons. Gods knew what they must have been putting her through. He felt his blood pounding in his ears as image after image of her suffering flashed in his mind. He gripped the back of the chair in front of him; his hand tightened on the chair, and he could hear the faint creak as the joints protested.

“Gendry,” Daenerys said softly. “She is alive; for now, that’s all that matters.”

“We need to get her back. We need to make sure she is safe.”

“And how, pray tell, would you get her back?” Daenerys asked calmly.

“Tell them I am her betrothed.” He said without missing a beat. “And that we were to be wedded soon.”

 They will agree to that. They had to.

“And you think they will believe that?” She said exasperatedly. “Or even if they do, however unrealistic that may be, what makes you certain that they would agree?”

“I don’t,” Gendry said. “But they do know what Baratheons are willing to do to get back who they love.”

It was a low blow, he knew, but he also knew that he had finally given her something to work with. She looked at him sternly, he didn’t look away.

Finally, Daenerys sighed. “Very well.” She called Missandei, who was standing outside the chamber. “Send a raven to Winterfell. Tell them to be prepared for Lord Baratheon’s arrival, and that he is Lady Arya’s betrothed.” She glanced at him then added. “Tell them our soldiers will be with the Baratheon party too because I don’t want the future Lady of Strom’s End journey to be uncomfortable.”

Gendry gave her a grateful look. He knew this wasn’t easy for her. He knew this was her way of telling him that she trusted him, and that he shouldn’t do anything rash once he reached North. “I hope you have thought this through, Gendry.”

At this moment his- their only objective was to get Arya Stark back to safety. He would gather the proof and find out who sent him that letter later.

Gendry gave her a nod. “I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think?  
> I know this is a little rough around the edges but I have rewritten this so many times and still felt no closer to being satisfied with it, so I had to post it before I lost my nerve.  
> We are so close to the Gendrya meeting and I'm so excited to write it!! Woooo!  
> So I have started writing and almost done with the first chapter of the post-canon fic I posted about on tumblr. So hopefully in a few days I will post it xD  
> I hope you like it. Again I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Thank you so much for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter to OneFail_AtATime whose kind words and constant motivation and an amazing playlist inspired me to write. You are an angel ❤  
> Thank you so much for all your beautiful comments and kudos. They mean the world to me ❤

**Chapter 5**

Roose read the letter that arrived from The Queen, he snarled, from Daenerys (she won’t be that for very long if everything went according to his plans) once again and felt his rage reach new heights.

“It seems like Arya Stark was- apparently is betrothed to Lord Baratheon.” He said folding the letter, seething. “And he wants his intended back or else.”

Ramsay snorted. “Who is scared of a bunch of soldiers from the South when most of the North is supporting us? Let him come. I have always wanted to kill a Stag.”

“He has his own army as well as the Queen’s. She may not trust the Baratheons, but she definitely doesn’t trust us either.” Ramsay replied. “With her army and the Baratheon’s- right now, we have no other option but to surrender the girl.”

“What? “Ramsay protested. “But father- “

“We are not in the place to have the Iron Throne as an enemy. We need more allies if we want to dethrone her and preferably kill her. We took the first step when we convinced everyone that Ned Stark was going to betray the North and the Queen.”

“She is supposed to be my wife.” Ramsay all but screamed. “She is supposed to be my wife, and I’m supposed to be the Lord of Winterfell.”

“You will be.” Roose tried to suppress his anger, but the boy was getting on his nerves now. “Winterfell doesn’t need a Stark name associated with it, and besides, even if he is willing to wed her after seeing her, what will they do? They will be in Stormlands and by the time they realize- we will be making our move for the Iron Throne.”

“But Arya- “

“Is merely a girl.” Roose snapped. He was getting tired of this conversation and more importantly of Ramsay’s whining. “And as for the so-called Lord of Storm’s End, he doesn’t have the spine to do what he threatens to do.”

Roose turned to the hearth throwing the letter into the fire; watching as the dragon seal melted away. He spoke softly as the last inch of the parchment turned to ash.

“Always remember, that in the end everyone can be flayed; be it a Stag, a Wolf or a Dragon.”

*

Arya staggered as the guard yanked her towards Robb’s chamber; not his; never his. It was and always will be Robb’s. She wanted to resist; put as much strength as her body would allow to stop them from dragging her, but she was weaker now, much weaker than she had been a moon’s turn back. Ever since her failed escape attempt, since he killed Mycah (and as the old gods were her witness, he- they will pay for it) they increased the dosage of sleeping potion in her food. So even if she ate less, the amount potion she ingested would be greater than before. She had tried to limit herself to as little as possible, but she knew that if she doesn’t escape soon, she would either be forced into submission because of her weakened state or she was going to die. She preferred the latter than letting that bastard touch her, but she couldn’t avenge her family and friends if she was dead. Every day she prayed to the old gods that they give her the strength to fight yet another day, but as the days passed by and her body continued to weaken, her resolve too started to dwindle.

“Ah, Lady Arya.” Ramsay’s voice was nothing more than a screech to her ears making her flinch. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

She said nothing. She had promised herself that no matter what he does, what he says, he would not get a reaction from her. And so far, ever since that day, he hadn’t been able to. It made him furious that she refused to look or even acknowledge him, and it gave her immense satisfaction. Right now, for her, it was about the small victories.

“Leave us be.” He said to the guards holding her in place. She didn’t even feel the pain from her shoulder wound until they let go. She stifled the gasp that almost escaped her lips. She felt light-headed and the chamber was warm; at that moment she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep till all this felt like a distant nightmare.

She flinched when she felt his finger running down her cheek. She was about to step away when he gripped her arm. She tried to shake him off, but the grip was too tight, and she was too weak. He jerked her closer.

“Tell me why is it Lady Arya that no one in the North knows that you were- I apologise, you are betrothed?” Ramsay asked, his voice almost a caress, but then his grip tightened as he hissed. “You never told me you were betrothed.”

She tried her best not to react. Did Dorne find out about what happened at Winterfell? Did Edric find out she was alive and was trying to get her out safely by telling them they were betrothed? She didn’t care if he lied, if this gets her out- she could finally send a raven to Jon, and they could go to Stormlands and maybe, just maybe the Baratheons would help them take back Winterfell. Hope, which she once thought was forever lost, had once again sparked to life. Hope, such a fickle thing it was, wasn’t it?

With his other hand, he gripped her face and turned it forcefully so that she was looking at him.

“Look at me when I am talking to you.” He spat.

She finally smiled; letting the small victorious tilt of her lips taunt him even further. “He is coming for me, isn’t he.”

She had no idea if Edric was coming for her or even if he was sending someone or even if they attempting to rescue her, but the anger and frustration in his eyes brought her great pleasure.

“Only because he has protection from his precious Queen.” He pushed her away, making her stagger. She gripped the desk near her for balance. “What else can you expect from a Stag? They cannot do anything unless they have someone much stronger backing them.”

Arya was glad she wasn’t facing him or else her face was would have betrayed her no matter how hard she tried to mask her surprise. He said Stag, didn’t he? Baratheons were coming to rescue her? Renly told them that they were betrothed- no, everyone knew about Renly. All of a sudden, she remembered her father was telling her about the King’s- Robert Baratheon’s bastard who had been made the new Lord of Storm’s End. She closed her eyes trying to remember the name father told her, but she couldn’t remember it for the life of her. She didn’t care who he was; he could be a bull for all she cared. What mattered was that they were trying to get her out and giving her a fighting chance, and she was sure as hell going to take it.

“You obviously haven’t heard about Robert’s Rebellion.” She muttered, knowing full well he could hear her perfectly, letting a little bit of indignance seep into her voice.

He grabbed her by the hair, his grip painful. Tears stung her eyes, but she did not struggle. What was the worst he could do? If he could do anything worse, he would have done it by now. She relished in the feeling of seeing him helpless. The wheels have started to turn, soon he would be at the bottom, and she will make sure that he is well within the ground.

“I would be careful if I were you. No one wants another man’s whore.” He whispered hoarsely in her ear. Biting her just above where her shoulder was wounded. She cried out as she stepped on his foot, driving her elbow in his stomach with every ounce of strength left in her.

She staggered away from him. Her eyes darted around the chamber, looking for something to use as a weapon, but the chamber was void of anything that she could use as a weapon. She didn’t have the strength- no, she told herself firmly, she was not going to give up especially when she was so close. She assumed a fighting stance. He was still keeled over; when he looked up his eyes were so much hatred that it made something dark in her immensely satisfied. He let out a snarl as he started to move towards her.

“Ramsay.” Roose Bolton’s voice halted him in his steps.

She turned to look at that snake Roose Bolton. It was the first time since- since that night. It was as if there were both ice and fire flowing through her veins. A voice in her mind was screaming to strangle him no matter what the cost, and even if she died doing it, it would be worth it. But there was this other voice, a much quieter one, one that made promises she knew it would keep; a voice that told her that they didn’t deserve a quick death. This chamber was Robb’s, and she would not besmirch Robb’s memories with their foul blood.

“Lady Arya, your intended will be arriving by tomorrow.” His gaze travelled down her body, calculating. “It may benefit you to change your clothes before he arrives.”

“No.” Arya looked at him coolly. “It may benefit _you_ if he doesn’t see me like this.”

A storm of emotions crossed Roose’s face, mostly rage, and she didn’t even bother to hide the smile that took over lips. She never saw the backhand coming, her hands balled into fists; she reared back to punch Roose back, but Ramsay caught her hands and held her in place.

“Let her go,” Roose said after a moment. He nodded towards the guards at the door. “Take her to the dungeon. Ramsay, tell Myranda to burn all of Lady Arya’s old clothes. She wants to meet her betrothed like this, and so she shall.”

*

Gendry looked at the gates of Winterfell which loomed ahead of them. He had heard so much about this place from Lord Stark, his uncle, the king- his father, and he always thought when he would get visit it would be on Lord Stark’s invitation.

“Gendry,” Uncle Renly said. “Remember what we are here for. We have to get Arya to safety; the rest- the rest we can deal with later.”

He saw the Bolton Banner, on the walls of Winterfell, fluttering in the wind and Gendry didn’t think he had seen anything so wrong in his life; it was supposed to be a Direwolf not and flayed man. Gendry felt anger course through his veins. These were the people who betrayed Ned Stark and killed almost everyone; captured his youngest daughter and only the gods knew what hells they have unleashed on her. He had never met Arya Stark, but his uncle had told him that she used to be as wild as the fiercest winters and if anyone could survive this, it would be her.

He hoped his uncle was right because he knew if they killed Arya Stark, he was going cave in the chest of every Bolton responsible.

*

Arya searched her mind for all the places he could have hidden the only thing she wanted to take with her, Needle, but came up with nothing. She had looked for it in Rams- Robb’s room, but it wasn’t in plain sight. Ramsay didn’t have it on his person, and neither did any of the guards. All of them were carrying broadswords. Disappointed, she closed her eyes, trying to rein in her emotions. She will get it back, if not now, then when she took Winterfell back with Jon and hopefully the Baratheons by her side.

Baratheons. She had always known that the ties between House Baratheon and House Stark ran deep, but she had assumed that after Robert Baratheon died, that relationship might change. She remembered Maester Luwin telling her to get to The Stormlands if she made it out alive. Why? Was it because Renly Baratheon was still there? Or the new Lord, who, unbeknownst to her, was close with her father? Why did he want to help her? Did he have an ulterior motive? She shook away that thought. She may not know the new Lord of Storm’s End, but she knew the Baratheons. She hoped Renly accompanied the new Lord, it would be good to see a familiar face, a familiar face she knew will always have her best interest in his heart.

*

“Ah, Lord Baratheon.” Roose Bolton said. His voice was low, but it was worse than a screech to his ears. “It is good to finally meet you. I wish the circumstances were different.”

“If you wished so, Lord Bolton, then you would never have deceived Lord Stark, murdered almost all the members of House Stark and held his youngest daughter captive.” Gendry seethed.

Roose’s lips twisted in a smile or a snarl, he couldn’t tell. He just knew he wanted to bash his head on the nearest wall. “You must have heard wrong, Lord Baratheon. Lord Stark was planning on committing treason against the Throne, ask anyone in the North, I just prevented it. As for the youngest daughter, we did offer her hospitality, but she attacked my son.”

Gendry turned to look at the man standing beside Roose. “I assume you are the son he is talking about.”

Ramsay looked at his father then nodded.

“Good,” Gendry said grinning and feeling incredibly proud of Arya Stark. “That is the Arya Stark I- “he almost said have heard so much about- “remember.”

Ramsay snarled and took a step towards Gendry, but Roose stopped him. “Tell them to bring Lady Stark. We don’t want to keep our guests waiting.”

*

Guards walked through the door, holding a small figure between them. They stopped at a fair distance from him. He moved closer, but he still couldn’t see her face; it was half hidden in shadows and half from her hair. The dress she was wearing was torn and dirty and caked with blood and dirt. He looked at Ramsay; the bastard had the audacity to smile. Gendry wanted to punch that smile off his face. He didn’t know his fingers had tightened on the hilt of his broadsword till he heard Uncle Renly’s voice.

“Gendry.” Uncle Renly said quietly. His voice so low that nobody except him heard it, but Gendry heard the warning in his Uncle’s voice.

“I told her to wear a prettier dress for her intended, but she refused.” Ramsay shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like she is very happy with the betrothal or her betrothed.”

Gendry clenched his fists, trying to fight his desire to strangle Ramsay. He reminded himself that if he doesn’t calm down, he won’t be able get Arya Stark, Lord Stark’s daughter, to safety.

A rustle distracted him. He looked towards the source and saw Arya Stark making her way towards them. She was limping slightly, but she didn’t let it stop her. She held her head high and walked towards them with a grace only a few can muster. She was not too tall, the top her head probably just reached his shoulder. She was too thin, her skin was pale and marked with bruises, and he felt the tight leash he had on his anger slipping. After he got her to safety, he was going to kill Roose and Ramsay Bolton.

He started to move closer, to help her. Her eyes never met his. It was as if she was trying her best not to look at him. Gendry didn’t blame her. She didn’t know him. Hell, she probably didn’t even trust him, and why should she. He was no one.

He was almost in touching distance now. Her gaze shifted, and her eyes settled on some point above his shoulder- most likely someone behind him, and that’s when he saw the first crack in her composure. Her eyes shined with unshed tears. He knew she was looking at Uncle Renly, the only person she knew and probably the only person she trusted in the crowd full of people. His chest tightened painfully as her lips trembled.

She stumbled, but before she could fall, Gendry stepped forward and caught her in his arms. She hissed when his hands touched her shoulder, and he abruptly let go, but still giving her support by holding her by her arms gently instead. His gaze drifted to her shoulder, and he saw the wound through the tear in her dress. He had never felt such intense fury in his life. His vision almost ran red with it. He looked over her shoulder, saw Ramsay smiling, and almost let his anger take over of him. This bastard doesn’t deserve to live. Ramsay Bolton was going to die; consequences be damned.

“Gendry.” Uncle Renly’s voice was soft, a plea. “Son.”

Gendry didn’t turn but he nodded. It was all he could do for now. Arya Stark’s safety was his priority. He looked down at her, at Arya Stark and this time- this time she was looking at him. Her face was sunken (his thoughts ran to all the days and nights she must have gone to sleep with an empty stomach; to all the sleepless nights she must have endured because she didn’t know what new hell the next moment held), bruises marred her pale skin (he wanted nothing more than to take away all her pain and make the people responsible pay).

He realized he had raised his hand to check the bruises but stopped when she flinched slightly. Her eyes, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, flicked ever so slightly to his raised hand and he lowered it, hurriedly. There was something so close to relief that flickered in her eyes that he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. It wasn’t until he lowered his hand, that he noticed that she was shivering slightly, and guilt coursed through him for not noticing it sooner.

“I apologize.” He said quietly as he lowered his hand.

She looked at him, brows furrowed like she was confused with his apology. Where should he begin? For not getting here earlier; for unintentionally hurting her even more; for not being able to save her family; for not killing that bastard who made her suffer right this moment.

Looking away, she shivered once more. Guilt took over him once again, but this time he acted. He immediately took off his cloak, her eyes widening as she realized what he was doing, and wrapped it around her shoulder, shielding her from all the prying eyes in the room; making a promise to always be her shield.

She looked at the cloak, uncertainty clouding her face. She looked at him then back at the cloak, and as if she understood the silent promise he just made, she tightened it around herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think?  
> Wow. It has been just over 2 months since I updated. I have an excuse. I suck. That's it. That's the excuse. Also, I have hit writer's block and everything I write looks like the script of season 8 finale, worse actually.  
> But here I am over 2 months later, publishing this with my face hidden behind my hands. I apologize for all the mistakes, but honestly posting this feels like an achievement.  
> Also, I am super excited for this year's axgweek. Also, I promise I'm working on the post-canon fic that I promised after the finale. I will probably post a small chapter in a few days. And one other one-shot I am working on.  
> As always I promise that I will finish this fic.   
> You guys are the best ❤  
> I hope you like it. Again I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Thank you so much for reading <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words cannot express how much your love and support means to me ❤ Thank you so, so much for all the lovely comments and Kudos ❤  
> I hope you like this chapter too ❤

**Chapter 6**

Arya still didn’t know if she trusted him or not. She didn’t know him; she had never even heard of him, except for that time her father told her about him, but she wasn’t paying attention then, and here he was, ready to fight for her. Or maybe he was like the others too, just needed her to stake a claim on Winterfell or maybe Renly persuaded him to rescue her when he finally found out. The infinite possibilities of why Lord Baratheon chose to come to Winterfell were racing through her mind. But through the haze of all the thoughts rushing past her, clear voice of Maester Luwin came through, _“Go to King’s Landing, if possible, Storm’s End.”_

Arya wrapped the cloak tightly around her. She knew what it meant- a cloak had always symbolised a promise. It may not have been in the Godswood, but they were still in Winterfell. Did it mean something- something much more than she was ready to accept? Her only wish was to escape, escape and somehow find a way to send a raven to Jon but him- Lord Baratheon fastening his cloak around her-

“Arya.” A soft voice brought her back to reality. She looked up saw Renly Baratheon looking at her, there was no pity in his eyes just sadness; sadness that she felt deep in her bones every night, every day and she knew he understood. He understood how she felt. She felt her eyes well up once again when he wrapped his arms around her. She clutched the front of his robes like a lifeline, but she did not cry. She will not cry in front of these monsters; she will not give them the satisfaction.

“At least do us the honour of having supper with us, Lord Baratheon.” She heard Roose Bolton say.

Her fingers clutched Renly’s robe harder. Images from that night flared up in her mind. She wanted to scream no, but her throat felt immensely dry, it was as if all the strength she had saved had finally left her. Renly held her even closer and for the first time- for the first time since that night, she felt safe.

“From all the things I have heard about you and suppers, I don’t think we will be.” She heard Lord Baratheon reply, a little stiffly as if he was doing everything in his power not to strangle him. “We’ll be leaving as soon as My Lady has all the things she holds dear with her.”

_Needle._

The only thing she wanted was Needle but she knew Ramsay would never give it back to her. She was touched by Lord Baratheon’s thoughtfulness, and somehow, she knew that if she asked for it, Lord Baratheon would ensure that she has it; no matter what the cost. And she couldn’t risk it right now. She needed to get out of Winterfell; she needed to send a raven to Jon; she needed to take Winterfell back from these bastards.

“Nothing.” Her voice was hoarse. “I want nothing.”

It was only Renly’s support that kept her standing otherwise she would have fallen to her knees. It took an immense strength to look up at Lord Baratheon. Lord Baratheon- he was looking at her- no, he was studying her, and it made her feel more vulnerable than she had ever felt. Unconsciously tightening the cloak around her; she looked away.

“Very well, then.” Lord Baratheon said. “Uncle, tell everyone to get ready. We’ll be leaving now.”

She heard Renly’s affirmation. She started to move away to let him do his task, but she found that she had no strength. Renly’s arms tightened around her.

“Don’t worry, Arya,” Renly said softly. “I won’t let go.”

Once again, emotions welled up inside her. He could have carried her, worse, he could have asked Lord Baratheon to carry her, but he didn’t. He knew what it meant for her to walk out of here.

“I will miss our time together, Lady Arya,” Ramsay said. His voice an unpleasant mixture of glee and teasing.

She ignored him. She was getting good at it.

“That was the last time you talk to or even look at my betrothed.” Lord Baratheon said slowly; every word laced with barely leashed anger.

“And if I don’t?” Ramsay challenged.

“Oh, I promise you it will be my absolute pleasure to enlighten you why the House Baratheon words are, ‘Ours is the Fury’.”

“There is no need to make empty threats, Lord Baratheon.” Roose Bolton said.

Arya felt Renly tense beside her when Lord Baratheon let out a low humourless chuckle. “Threats? No, no you misunderstand me, Lord Bolton. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.”

Before anyone could reply, Renly interrupted. “Gendry, son, it’s going to be sundown soon; we must get on our way back to Stormlands. And I’m certain Lord Bolton knows that it was most definitely a promise.”

With one last glare, they left the Great Hall. The quiet wind that blew through the yards of Winterfell brought Arya a sense of calm. It had been so long. She slumped against Renly.

Gendry. His name was Gendry. It suited him, Arya thought faintly. It was her last thought before the world around her went dark.

*

A gentle shake to her arm and someone softly saying her name, made her fight her way out of the darkness. She opened her eyes. The light was too bright making her eyes hurt, so she closed them again.

“She is alright, Gendry.” She heard Renly say. “You need to calm down, son. You look like you are ready to kill someone.”

“I am.” Lord Baratheon hissed furiously. “Look at what those monsters have done to her. She was clearly starved and look at her wounds; it looks like they did their best to rub them raw every day. We should have been here sooner.”

“We came as soon as we possibly could, Gendry,” Renly said calmly. “You cannot blame yourself for what happened.”

She groaned slightly, just to let them know that she had gained consciousness.

“Oh, thank the old gods and the new,” Renly said, delighted. He helped her to a comfortable seating position and then pressed a tumbler to her lips. “Drink. It’ll help.”

She felt her throat close when Renly gently brushed her hair as she drank. It felt like a lifetime ago since someone had actually cared about her. She looked up and saw Lord Baratheon looking at her intently. She looked away, not knowing how to take the look in his eyes. If not for her prolonged captivity, she would have thought that it was concern- concern for her.

It wasn’t until then that she realised that she was in a carriage. If she had the strength, she would have gotten up in alarm, but since she felt bone-tired, she simply asked. “How did I get here?”

“Gendry carried you,” Renly said gently. “Don’t worry, Arya. You were well out of their eyesight when you fainted.”

She nodded, but she still didn’t look at him. “Thank you, Lord Baratheon.”

“You never have to thank me for anything, My Lady.” Lord Baratheon replied.

She tried to look through the windows of the carriage, and a sudden sadness bloomed in her heart as she realised she didn’t get to look at the walls of Winterfell one last time before leaving; make a promise that she would come back, and free her from these monsters, when Lord Baratheon spoke again. “We are still in Winterfell, My Lady. I- we thought it would be best if you got say your farewells.”

Her head jerked up in surprise. She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since they met. There was never a doubt that he wasn’t a Baratheon, with his raven coloured hair and those beautiful blue eyes and his strong build but there was a gentleness in him like Renly, and he was certainly strong like his father. There was so much more than kindness and sadness in his eyes. There was pain too, like it pained him to see her like this.

_I- we thought it would be best if you got say your farewells._

How could she ever thank him for something like this? How could anyone show their gratitude for something so thoughtful?

“Is there any place you would like to visit before we depart, Arya?” Renly asked, his voice gentle.

This time it was Lord Baratheon who looked away first. Her thoughts went to the Godswood, but the memories of her being on her knees and Ramsay capturing her flooded her mind; the crypts but she knew the only faces she wanted to see weren’t even there; her chamber, but somehow, she knew that the Boltons expected her to visit it and must have done something to it just to provoke her. There were so many places she wanted to visit but knew she couldn’t, not yet. Not unless she made all those who wronged her family, pay for their sins.

She shook her head. “No. No, there isn’t.”

*

Their carriage moved slowly as they moved through the yard. Memories flooded her. Every inch of Winterfell was covered in memories of her family; of smiles; of laughter; of the stupid fights she had with her siblings; of the day she got Nymeria.

Nymeria, her heart clenched painfully in her chest as she thought of her Direwolf. She didn’t know if Nymeria or others were still alive or not. A faint voice reverberated in her mind.

 _I already released Nymeria, the rest I couldn’t_ -

There was hope that Nymeria was still alive and hope- and right now, hope was all she had.

She looked out the window of the carriage, realizing they had reached the gates of Winterfell. That was the moment when the feeling finally settled. She was going to leave Winterfell; she was going to leave Winterfell and won’t be able to come back soon; meanwhile leaving it in the hand of the monsters who had done this to her family.

“Stop.” She blurted out. Her voice was still hoarse, and it still hurt to talk but she couldn’t- she couldn’t leave like this.

Lord Baratheon looked at her intently and without asking for any explanation, nodded to Renly who knocked on the panel behind him and their carriage came to a sudden halt.

She gave Lord Baratheon and Renly a grateful look. She shifted to open the door, but Lord Baratheon beat her to it and opened it for her. She gripped the doorframe tightly, her head spinning slightly, as she got off the carriage; Lord Baratheon right behind her, most likely to catch her if she lost her footing.

She knew that The Boltons and their people were looking, she didn’t care. She held her head high, drew her shoulder back, and clutching the cloak Lord Baratheon fastened on her with one hand, she started to move slowly towards the wall. She didn’t need to turn to know that Lord Baratheon was still following her.

Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against the cold stone. She raised her hand, resting it against the wall; making a promise to her parents, to her siblings, that she would be back; she would be back and free Winterfell from the shackles of Boltons.

At that moment, she hated Lord Baratheon for taking her away, for saving her; hated herself, for not killing all the bastards who did this to her family, hated herself for surviving. And above all, she hated the Boltons and all the Lords who betrayed and murdered her family.

She turned to look at the Boltons one last time.

Winter will come for all of them.

She turned and saw the same fire that was burning in her reflected in Lord Baratheon’s eyes. She tightened the cloak around her once more as she walked back to the carriage.

And hers will be the fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think?  
> Just over a month *sigh* I promise I try my best to update as soon as I can but time just seems to be running like Gendry ran to Eastwatch.  
> This chapter was supposed to include their way back to Stormlands but it's already over a month, so I thought to split it into two parts.  
> Also, I promise that an update for my axgweek is coming soon.  
> You guys are the best ❤  
> I hope you like it. Again I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Thank you so much for reading <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love and support you have given this fic ❤ I'm so lucky to have y'all in my life ❤  
> I hope you like this chapter too ❤

**Chapter 7**

Gendry looked at the sleeping form of Arya Stark. Her features were far from peaceful, even in her sleep. She seemed to be fighting to stay asleep; a violent shudder racked her body, and she opened her eyes in fear or fury, he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both. She looked around her. Her eyes a little wild as she took in her surroundings, calming down a little, only when she saw his cloak covering her. Her body relaxed visibly as she drifted back to sleep.

It was just over a day since they left Winterfell, most of which she spent looking out the window of their carriage until Winterfell was nothing but a mere shadow in the cold haze (refusing any food; telling Uncle Renly that she wasn’t hungry); even after that she fought to stay awake as if trying to keep some demons away. It wasn’t until her Uncle Renly coaxed her to lay down for a bit that she fell asleep. She had been asleep since then, sporadically waking up what it seemed like a bad dream, calming only when she saw either Uncle Renly or his cloak and once- even him.

They had left Winterfell when it was almost sundown, and it wasn’t till their way was illuminated by nothing but moonlight the next day that he told Uncle Renly to tell the rest that they could set-up camp now. The carriage came to a stop, and he feared that she would wake up when the carriage jerked to a halt. He took a sigh of relief when she merely frowned in her sleep.

The moonlight illuminated her face. Her skin looked even paler in this light, her face even gaunt, the circles under her eyes even darker, and despite all that, she looked so- so vulnerable that he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. He must have known Arya Stark for even less than a day and may not have shared more than a few sentences, but he saw what the Boltons never could. He saw the steel that ran through her; he saw the fire in her eyes, which the Boltons had tried so hard to extinguish, they might even have dimmed it, but he knew what he saw when she had said her farewell to her home. It was a promise to give the Boltons what they deserved, and as the old gods were his witness, he would be there with her, if she would have him as her ally.

Gendry clenched his fist when she let out a pained moan. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t lose his temper in front of her, but every time he saw those wounds on her, every pained breath she drew, he wanted nothing more than to ride back to Winterfell and kill those bastards with his bare hands.

A gentle knock on the door drew him out of his thoughts. His gaze darted to her to check if the sound had woken her up, but she was still sound asleep. He let out a relieved breath. It must have been ages since she had slept properly, if at all, and before his thoughts could go back to killing all the Boltons, he quietly opened the carriage door. Stepping out, he saw Uncle Renly talking to Lommy in hushed tones.

Uncle Renly looked at him, then turned to nod at Lommy. Lommy went to do whatever task Uncle Renly had put him up to.

“The tents are being set-up.” Uncle Renly said. He was still trying to stop his mind from thinking of various ways he could kill the Boltons. “Lem and Tom went on a hunt. If we are lucky, maybe they’ll catch a few rabbits, and if we are even luckier- a deer.”

He nodded. His thoughts moving on to how to make Arya Stark more comfortable. She obviously needed some new clothes, and at least that was taken care of. He had asked Uncle Renly to bring some with them before they had left King’s Landing.

“Should we- “Uncle Renly started, his gaze drifting towards the carriage.

“No.” He replied instantly. “Let her- let her rest, till we are all set-up.”

*

She woke up to the sound of silence, but it wasn’t an eerie one like she was used to. She could hear the quiet chatter and soft laughter; the sound of fire crackling in the distance. For the first time, in a long time, Arya didn’t wake up with dread- dread of what the day was going to hold for her. What new tortures Ramsay and his minions had cooked up for her.

There was a soft knock at the carriage window, and she tried to sit up; her head spinning slightly as she sat up straight.

“Arya.” Renly’s quiet voice. “You awake?”

“Yes.” She replied, her voice was a little hoarse. She frowned when she parted the curtains and looked out the window and saw moonlight illuminating the forest. She must have been sleeping a long time because they were certainly quite a fair distance away from Winterfell. Her mouth was dry, and she felt prickles in her throat. She was thirsty.

The door opened, and she was greeted with Renly’s smiling face; she felt her own lips quirk slightly, the sensation seeming almost new to her.

“Great.” He said extending his hand to help her out of the carriage.

Her head was still spinning, but she knew it was more from dehydration and starvation. Hopefully, they had something to eat. It felt like an eternity since she had had a proper meal. Making sure Lord Baratheon’s cloak was still around her; she took Renly’s hand as she got off the carriage. “The tents are set-up. The food is almost ready too.” He looked almost hesitant, making her blink in surprise. Renly was rarely hesitant, as far as she remembered. “Would you- uh- would you like to freshen up and change into something else? Gendry has already asked them to warm up some water so that you don’t need to leave your tent.”

Oh, she thought dimly. That explained why Renly was hesitant. She almost smiled at the thought of him going over how he was going to ask her this.

“I would love that,” Arya replied. Looking down at herself, then back at him, she smiled ruefully. “I am a little dirty.”

Renly let out a startled laugh and shook his head in affection. “Let me show you your tent.”

*

She sat on the makeshift bed as she looked around her tent. She finally took off Lord Baratheon’s cloak wincing slightly when she saw the blood that had stained the interior of it. She hardly knew how to sew, the only Needle she knew how to use wasn’t with her and wouldn’t help her sew anyway, but maybe she could ask someone to help her to make him a new one, or maybe, just help her get rid of stains on this one.

“M’lady.” A girl’s voice came from just outside her tent. “M’lady, Lord Baratheon has sent a few clean clothes and has asked me to clean your wounds. Can- may I come in?”

Arya froze. The images of Myranda and her minions rubbing her wounds raw rose up in her mind. Protest almost slipped out from her lips. She looked down and saw the cloak, and it reminded her that she wasn’t at Winterfell anymore. She was safe.

“I apologise, M’lady.” The girl said hurriedly. “I could come later if- “

“No.” Arya said; placing the cloak on her bed. “Come in.”

A girl, slightly older than her, entered the tent with a pail filled with steaming water in one hand, and a dress, and a few more clothes in another.

“I would just place them here, M’lady. I’ll just bring more water and some ointments.”

Arya nodded. She moved to look at the clothes, not that she cared. At that moment, she would have taken anything just to get the godforsaken thing she had been wearing since that day off of her. She noticed that it was a simple dress; nothing about it screamed ‘A Lady’. It was made more for comfort than anything else, and she briefly wondered whose choice was it. She shook her head and then cursed herself when the world around her started to spin. She grasped the pole nearest to her for support.

A pair of warm hands grasped her before she could fall.

“M’lady?” It was the same girl. She sounded worried. “M’lady, are you well? Should I call Lord Baratheon?”

“No.” Arya managed to gasp out. “It’s- it’s fine. I just- I’m just a little unsteady on my feet. No need to bother anyone.”

“M’lady, are you certain? Lord Baratheon told us- “

“No.” She said, a little more forcefully than she intended. Arya took in a deep breath and gave her a small reassuring smile. “I just need a little food and a little sleep. I will be fine.”

The girl looked uncertain but nodded anyway. She stepped back, only after making sure Arya was comfortably seated. She started to mix two pails of water in a larger one. There was something familiar about the girl, but Arya couldn’t place a finger on it.

“What’s your name?” She asked, curious.

“Bella, M’lady.” The girl replied as she brought a pail of water, and a clean cloth to her. Arya looked at Bella; knew she hadn’t heard her name, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling that Bella looked familiar.

“It’s a pretty name and so are you,” Arya replied as she started to slip out of her dress, hesitating just a bit. It has been days, a few moon’s turn at least since she had taken it off or cleaned herself. She knew it must smell like that too. She let out a hiss of pain when she tried to slide it off her shoulder. The fabric of the dress had gotten stuck to her shoulder wound. She closed her eyes, preparing to pull on it harder and bracing herself for the pain that would follow.

“M’lady,” Bella whispered softly, gently removing Arya’s hand from her shoulder. “Let me.”

Arya, unconsciously, stiffened. Flashes of her wounds being rubbed raw flashed through her mind; she could almost feel the pain that followed.

“I apologise- “Bella stuttered.

Arya took in a deep breath and tried to remind herself that she wasn’t at Winterfell anymore; that Bella wasn’t Myranda. Her eyes, once again, drifted to Lord Baratheon’s cloak. She didn’t know why or when it had become a sign of comfort for her. But every time she felt overwhelmed, she looked at the cloak and felt herself relax.

“No need to apologise. It’s just- just been- “She trailed off. Not sure what she could or should say. Bella didn’t say anything. She simply gave her a small sad smile, trying to tell her that she understood.

She clenched her teeth to keep herself from screaming in pain as soon as the warm cloth touched her skin. Drops of warm water, from the cloth, ran down her sides and back. Little by little, the fabric stuck to her shoulder softened and started to separate from her wounded skin a bit easily. Bella was being so gentle with her; Arya felt a tear roll down her cheek- a mixture of pain, sadness, and gratitude.

When her dress was pooled by her feet, she heard Bella’s gasp and looked down and saw that she was looking at the wound on her leg where the arrow had brushed past her. The wound wasn’t as deep as the one on her shoulder, but somehow it looked in worse condition.

“M’lady, this- “Bella gulped. “I’ll get some boiled wine. Should I- should I get Lord Baratheon too?”

Arya shook her head. “It’s nothing to worry Lord Baratheon about. It’s merely a flesh wound, and it just needs a thorough cleansing, and a few ointments.”

Bella looked unconvinced.

“Go, bring some boiled wine. I’m going to clean myself till then.” Arya gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to fall.”

Nodding, Bella left. Arya lowered herself on an upturned bucket, her muscles screaming in protest, and began to clean herself. The warm water felt like heaven to her, she tried to scrub as much dirt and grime as she could, but her shoulders ached. She sighed and leaned back, resting her head on a pole. She closed her eyes, telling herself that she only needed a bit of shut eye before she could start bathing again.

It must have been longer than she had thought because when Bella returned, she took one look at Arya’s form and hurried to her side. “You should have waited for me, M’lady. Your wounds are still fresh, and you are too weak right now to do this yourself.”

Arya would have protested, but Bella was right, she was too weak right now to do anything. So, she just tried to relax as Bella started to bathe her. Bella had brought a bar of soap with her, she started with her hair and then knelt down in front of Arya and started to scrub off the grime of her as gently as she could. When Bella finished cleaning her, she started to pour a cup at a time over her, clearing all the scum that had gathered on her skin. Arya felt almost a stone lighter when Bella was done. Her skin felt like it was breathing for the first time in a long time. Her hair was damp but was lighter than Arya had felt them in a long time.

She clenched her fist when Bella began to clean the wound on her leg, her nails digging into the palm of her hand distracting her, somewhat, from the pain. After she was done cleaning the wounds, Bella applied ointment on them. Arya hissed in pain when it first touched her wound.

“It won’t hurt much in a few days, M’lady,” Bella said almost apologetically. Arya wanted to tell her that she had nothing to apologise for, but she was so tired that she could barely keep herself sitting straight.

Bella helped her with the shift and her small clothes, then took her to the makeshift bed. Arya opened her mouth to thank her, but Bella merely smiled and covered her with a blanket. Arya felt her eyes drift shut as the warmth of the blanket embraced her.

“Sleep, M’lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think?  
> I'm so, so, so sorry. I really wanted to update sooner but one thing or another came up and I couldn't complete writing the chapter even though it was all laid out in my mind.  
> I know I also said that I would update my axgweek, and I definitely will. The past few months haven't been so great, health-wise, but I'm doing better now (well, comparatively but still better, so yay!).  
> So, back to the chapter, it was supposed to even longer, encompassing their journey back to Stormlands but it has already been over a month and I have a Doctor's appontment so I'll be out of town a few days so I thought to post it today.  
> As always, you guys are so freaking awesome ❤  
> I hope you like it. Again I'm sorry for all my mistakes. Thank you so much for reading <3


End file.
